


Tea 'n' Angel

by VeraBAdler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Finger sandwiches, Fluff, Lemon curd, M/M, Scones, Tea, clotted cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 12:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler
Summary: Dean takes himself out of his comfort zone for Cas. It turns out to be delicious out there.





	Tea 'n' Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that this fic is like 70% "woo destiel" and 30% "i am so hungry rn" but I hope you enjoy it regardless.

Dean had seen the flyer in the lobby when they were checking in to the motel of the week, and he hadn't formed any particular expectations from it. He'd only thought, _Cas likes tea. Bet he'd like that._ If he'd composed any kind of vision of the place in his head he'd imagined something like a fancier version of a Starbucks, maybe. The reality turned out to be far less familiar.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam's eyebrows had raced for his hairline when Dean informed him that he and Cas had somewhere to be together that afternoon.

“Like a date?” he'd asked with a teasing smirk.

“No, not like a–” Dean had taken a deep breath and run his hand across his mouth, forcing back his knee-jerk defensiveness. “Yes, Sam. _Exactly_ like a date. So we'll see you later, okay?”

Sam hadn't replied, apparently stunned into silence by his brother's candor, and they'd breezed past him and out to the Impala.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The thing is, Sam knows, but he doesn't _know_. He knows that Dean and Cas are “together-together.” He knows that the three of them always get two rooms when they're on the road now, unless money's too tight to manage it. And thanks to his habit of ghosting around the Bunker in his socks, his approaching footsteps surprisingly undetectable for a man of his prodigious size, he knows that Dean and Cas get up to some pretty racy stuff together, and not always in the privacy of their shared bedroom.

So yeah, Sam knows they're boning on the reg. But he doesn't _know_. He doesn't know the sweetness of the words they whisper in their bed, holding each other close in the dark. He doesn't know that Dean sees Forever when he looks into his best friend's blue eyes. And he doesn't know about the little velvet box that's shoved against the back of Dean's sock drawer, waiting until Dean can craft the perfect moment for the man he loves.

And now they are going on a date, because that's what people do when they're in love. And if Sam hadn't been expecting that, well, Sam's a smart kid. He'll catch up eventually.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They walk into the Victorian Tea Room, an unassuming building on a corner of the town's main street. While from the outside it had been nondescript, once inside, their eyes are assaulted with fifty shades of gingham and floral print. A fancier version of Starbucks? This is fucking _Madame Puddifoot's_. Dean sighs. Too late to turn back now.

The mousy, middle-aged woman at the counter forces a smile, clearly taken aback by the collective twelve feet of testosterone that has barged into her delicate, lace-trimmed establishment.

“May I help you gentlemen?” she asks, almost managing to conceal her dismay at their presence.

“Uh, yeah. Reservation for Winchester?” Dean replies.

Her mouth pinches briefly into a moue of displeasure before she gathers herself and plasters the forced smile back into place. “Of course,” she murmurs. “The Full Queen's Tea Package. Right this way.”

Grabbing two small pink menus from the counter, she leads them into the dining area. It's an ultra-feminine fantasy, in a mishmash of styles. The walls are papered with a densely-patterned flower print, then hung with dozens of gaudy portraits in gilded frames of assorted shapes. They weave their way across the floor, dodging dozens of small tables, each draped in frilly pastel chintz and set for two with delicate mismatched china teacups and well-polished silverware.

_I have never been more out of place in my life,_ Dean thinks. _And I was a human in Purgatory._ His angel seems unconcerned, however, and takes in the frou-frou décor with undisguised interest. Dean loves how unflappable Cas is; he may be socially awkward (like, _really_ socially awkward) sometimes, but his curiosity is boundless, and he's generally happy to roll with whatever situation he finds himself in.

At last, they've traversed the entire length of the room. Dean breathes a sigh of relief when he sees they've been led to a table in the far corner that's large enough to seat four. (Looking at some of the teensy little two-tops they'd passed, he doubts they'd even have been able to fit all of their legs underneath at the same time.) She puts their menus down at settings across from each other, but Dean and Cas automatically take the two chairs with backs against the wall. This gives them both a full view of the room and any oncoming threat, _which is a real badass manly hunter thing to think about when choosing a seat in a fucking tea room, Dean._ He knows the truth, though: they sit where they do because they want to be as close to each other as possible, always.

Once the men have settled, the hostess begins a well-practiced spiel.

“You've reserved the Full Queen's Tea Package. With that you will each receive a personal pot of tea. We offer over a hundred flavors and blends of tea to choose from, which you can see on the menu. Then there is soup and a small salad. Your choices of soup are also on the menu. Today's salad dressing is a house-made strawberry vinaigrette. After that I'll bring you a selection of light sandwiches, both sweet and savory, and fresh-baked scones with clotted cream and lemon curd. Lastly you'll have your choice of a dessert. Do you have any questions?”

Cas takes the speech in stride.

“No, thank you,” he replies, giving her a gentle smile.

She seems charmed by his demeanor, and for the first time since they've walked in, she softens a bit. “Alright then,” she says. “I'll come back in a few minutes to take your order.”

She bustles away, and Dean turns to the menu, overwhelmed and a little irritated by the number of options. _How can there be this much tea?_ he boggles. A warm hand placed over his own disrupts his thoughts.

The small, soft smile that Cas had gifted to the hostess has bloomed into a full, joyous grin, and his eyes sparkle as they meet Dean's. “Thank you for bringing me here, beloved,” he murmurs. “I know this isn't at all your usual sort of place, but it's lovely.”

Just like that, Dean feels like he's full of warm honey, right down to his toes. If sipping hot leaf water out of a tiny cup for an hour makes his boyfriend beam at him like that, he'll never drink coffee again.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he whispers back. “You know that.”

“I do,” Cas replies, and gives his hand a little squeeze before releasing it. He turns to his menu. “There's certainly a lot on here to choose from. Would it be okay if I ordered for you? I think I have a pretty good idea of what you would enjoy.”

Dean blushes a little, thinking about how much he's enjoyed some of Cas's “pretty good ideas” in the recent past, but he also relaxes, grateful for a chance to be cared for. “I'd love that, babe. Thanks.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Twenty minutes later, Dean is carefully scooping the last spoonful out of his little ramekin of white chicken chili, wanting to savor every drop of its rich broth. He's almost finished steeping a second pot of the tea that Cas chose for him, a blend that tastes _exactly_ like sweet apple pie.

Cas, next to him, is picking at the last bits of his salad, making sure to sop up as much of the dressing (which even Dean had to admit had been delicious) as he can. He's finished his pot of jasmine green tea and is brewing a pot of something with rose petals that he'd ordered after an intense discussion with the hostess. (Dean had mostly tuned them out, focusing instead on the way his angel's eyes sparkle and his cheeks flush when he's deep in conversation on a topic that interests him.)

They press their knees together under the table and share a fond look. Cas nudges him and purrs, “Are you enjoying your food so far, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas, I really am. What about you?”

Cas smiles and nods, and seems to be about to say something, but the hostess chooses that moment to return with an elaborate three-tiered plate stand, which she plunks down in the center of the table. Swapping their soup and salad plates out for fresh dishes with a practiced air, she explains what she's brought them, gesturing to each tidbit in turn.

“Here we have a selection of tea sandwiches including cucumber and butter, cream cheese and olive, curried chicken salad, egg salad, butter and jam, lemon and berry, and chocolate-raspberry. There are also fresh-made sugared scones, and to top them we have clotted cream and homemade lemon curd. Enjoy.” As soon as her lesson has ended, she sweeps off, and they examine the bounty she's left them.

The sandwiches are dainty, none of them larger than two of Dean's fingers put together. They try each one in turn, comparing notes and declaring preferences. Cas is particularly fond of the cream cheese and olive. Dean thinks he could eat about two dozen of the chicken salad. They both love the chocolate-raspberry. (They seal that agreement with a sly, sugar-sweet kiss when it seems like no one's looking their way.)

After the sandwiches are gone, they each take a scone. Dean is suspicious of anything called “clotted cream” but Cas promises he'll like it, so he gives it a tentative try. It's rich and sweet, with a bit of a tang, like a cross between good butter and soft whipped cream. Dean wants to eat it with a spoon.

“D'you think we can buy jars of this stuff to keep in the Bunker?” he asks, enthusiastically slathering it across the sugared top of his scone.

“I believe so,” Cas assures him. “It's also possible to make it yourself, although it takes a bit of time. Try it with the lemon curd.”

Dean does, and then he moans, which brings a flush to his angel's face. “Oh my god, Cas, this is so good. I am definitely looking up recipes for scones when we get home.”

“We could ask Maureen for her recipe.”

“Who's Maureen?”

Cas gestures at the hostess, who is bustling nearby, clearing off tables as the noon crowd thins out. “The owner. She makes all the food here herself, from scratch. We should ask her about the salad dressing, too. I think Sam would enjoy it very much.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When the plate stand has been fully relieved of its contents, the hostess returns with the dessert menu. Dean is stunned to realize that he's full – too full on tiny fancy sandwiches and wee crocks of soup, in fact, to have much interest in eating anything else right now. But there's a bourbon pecan tart on the menu that he'd hate to miss out on, so he groans and pushes through his feeling of satiation, bravely soldiering on to house the dainty little tidbit in three bites. Cas, meanwhile, enjoys a slice of honey ricotta cheesecake that seems to make him _very_ happy, if the sexy little noises he makes under his breath are any indication.

Once they set aside their dessert plates and drain the last of their tea, they realize that they're the only customers left in the house. When Maureen comes to give them their check, Cas asks a few questions about her experiences running the tea house, and she ends up sitting down at their table with them. They chat and share a pot of ginger licorice tea (“prevents indigestion after overeating,” she says to Dean with a teasing grin). Maureen has led a long and interesting life, full of side journeys and fresh starts, and she captivates them with her stories.

They end their visit an hour after the restaurant's closing time, leaving with Maureen's scone recipe in hand, along with a standing invitation to come back for tea and conversation any time they're in the area. As they walk hand in hand to the Impala, Dean is thinking about a plan that he's going to put into motion soon, a plan involving his first successful batch of scones and breakfast in bed, with that little velvet box on the side.

**Author's Note:**

> I just realized as I was preparing to post this fic that I wrote my first OFC. Huh.
> 
> Rebloggable link for this story on tumblr is [here](https://blessyourhondahurley.tumblr.com/post/182811195001/tea-n-angel).


End file.
